


Three

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, Het and Slash, Multi, Multiple Partners, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:13:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26200195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: by Daisy ThistletopWhat happened when the new couple returned to Bag End on their wedding night, with Frodo there?
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Rose Cotton/Sam Gamgee
Kudos: 2
Collections: Least Expected





	Three

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: Characters created by Tolkien, I only pick up their strings temporarily for my own, and hopefully other's, amusement.  
> Story Notes: Follows "Vigil", sort of. I started this one back in March due to my obsession with "filling in the blanks" concerning the Rosie issue, which in my opinion was glossed over in LOTR. It took me this long to hammer it out Thank you to my fantastic betas, MJ and Talisha, who were both very helpful and patient with me *hug hug kiss kiss!* [Elven words courtesy of Talisha]  
> Another Note: Warning, my version of Rosie is unique (oh why does Rosie have to be a bitch? I just don't think this is necessarily so.

The bride stood framed by the round doorway of Bag End. The moonlight touched the edges of pale roses in her hair and the ruffles on her ornate bodice, conflicting with the bright candlelight spilling out over her, touching her pretty face with gold. "Sam -- look!" Her bouquet fell to the threshold, losing a few white petals to the warm night breeze.

The groom huffed, clambering up the familiar stones. "Rosie, m'dear....wait," he called in a gruff tone, silvered with amusement. He had seen the light shining from the smial from down the road and had some idea of who would be waiting for them. Of course, the excitable Rosie had rushed ahead to the door in a fit of girlish glee, before he could speculate aloud.

Samwise hesitated, looking up at Mr. Frodo's garden, currently overflowing with spring flowers. This was all...a different sort of arrangement, indeed. His Gaffer had even stated, during the third toast to the couple's health (or was it the fourth? fifth?), "You two must plan a getaway, or do you plan to honeymoon right under yer master's nose?", which began a cascade of both hearty laughter and hushed gossip around the embarrassed groom. He didn't answer that, he was too overcome - but even if he had, he wouldn't have given an appropriate response. He was just as confused as they were, if not more so, and if he and Rosie had had any assumptions, they were that Mr. Frodo Baggins had likely planned to leave the reception early to sulk alone away from his home. /It would fit his gray mood from earlier/ Sam thought with a stab of guilt. But, the newlyweds had predicted wrongly: Bag End now shone with a welcoming light just for them.

As he made his way up the steps, Sam was treated to the sight of a well-appointed foyer filled with recently lit candles, and his flower-covered bride standing in awe. His face crinkled up into an appreciative smile as he took Rosie's small hand in his own. "Well, well, I reckon our Mr. Frodo is full of surprises," Sam murmured in her ear. The couple stared into the main room, breathless and beaming.

The Master of Bag End sat waiting before them in the overstuffed chair, eyes gleaming with expectation, four-fingered hand resting carefully in his velveted lap. He was surrounded by white candles alight on every surface and lit by a large rounded hearth filled with the glimmering tapers in place of burning logs. "Come in, come in!" He beckoned with his right hand, the ruffles of his fancy shirt fluttering. "Or, if you'd rather remain in the foyer gaping....." The pale gentlehobbit rose, chuckling, from his nest of pillows, produced a half-empty bottle of some honey-colored liquid from the folds of his forest green smoking jacket, and lifted it high in salute.

The couple finally walked in. Sam responded predictably, flustered by the presentation. /There must be a pound of silver's worth of wax in here..../ calculated the gardener silently. "Y'know, sir, you didn't have to...g -- go to alla this trouble..."he stammered, sun-streaked locks falling forward over his eyes. Rosie did not share his hesitation, however, and skipped forward to curtsey before the master of the house, and her new master as well. "Wonderful, sir," she cried delightedly. "I'm so glad! We thought you would be..." Before she continued, a weathered hand clapped over her mouth suddenly from behind.

Samwise whispered quickly into her ear: "Rosie, me lass, don't...do watch what you say, else..." But Mr. Frodo was seemingly unaffected, as he strode over to the mantel to pour the shimmering liquid into tiny cups. Rosie squirmed impatiently away from her husband, which made his left arm wrap reflexively around her waist to keep control. She giggled merrily.

"Sam! Unhand me, so I can take the drink Mr. Frodo is offering," Rosie whined. Frodo spun around, almost spilling the bottle, eyebrows raised. Sam could read his master better than he could forecast the weather, and currently diagnosed a bleared combination of good intentions, doubt, and inebriation in those sky-blue eyes.

"Don't let me stand in your way, forgive me..." Said Frodo, with a sudden dip in mood. He turned away to stumble toward the kitchen with an unsteady wave of his good hand.

She deftly picked the cordial from atop the mantelpiece. "Now you've done it," Rosie hissed inches from Sam's ear, downing her drink in a gulp. "We've driven him from his own hearth. Serves you right for grabbing me, like so," she giggled again and put her own hand over Sam's frown before he could comment. However, Samwise was a broad, sturdy hobbit, and would not be taken down so easily. Temporarily caught up in Rosie's playful nature, he grabbed her arms, quickly slipped behind her, and bound them against her back.

"That'll do," growled Sam, stifling a grin. "You're behavin' like a tween tonight, seemingly...." Rosie just tittered in response, wriggling to get free, but tripping over her long skirts in the process, which made Sam's hands lose their grip. She tumbled to the floor and her new husband soon followed. Some amount of childish roughhousing soon made the bride begin to tug distractedly at her flowered headpiece and train, grumbling. Meanwhile, Sam's attention had begun to wander away from the jovial atmosphere and back to Frodo. He worried, unsure as to what Mr. Frodo really expected. Wouldn't it be wrong if his master were forced from his own smial on his and Rosie's account, even if just for one night, from danger of embarrassment? Wasn't there something odd about him staying, as well? Sam's head spun from the concepts (or was it the beer?) and his jaw clenched with the stress. /What to do, what to do.../

Rosie snapped him out of it with a tap on the shoulder. "Darling, I've got to do....do something about these layers....." she crooned, gesturing sweepingly at her twisted collar and crumpled train. "I'll just go...to the first guest bedroom, and see what I can do about 'em." The little hobbit rose from the floor unsteadily, and turned, chestnut curls bouncing, to walk cheerfully down the adjoining corridor. She carried a handful of detached flowers at her side, and a trail of rose petals fluttered to the oaken floorboards along her way.

Samwise Gamgee, now alone with his thoughts, got up, retreated to the big red armchair and undid his collar. He felt out of place in his formal midnight blue suit and crisp, starched shirt. He had been offered a matching embroidered blue weskit, tailored to fit his healthy girth, but had refused for two reasons: One, it made him feel uncomfortable to wear something so fancy, and two, the offer had been made by his employer, traveling companion, best friend, and vastly under-appreciated savior of all the land. He just didn't feel right accepting gifts from him, it was all wrong, somehow, or at least, most of it.

The candlelight glimmered in Sam's brown eyes, and on the trail of fallen petals, and on the now-empty bottle... /I should feel pretty fine right now, Mr. Frodo's happy for me, it's my wedding night, I'll just -- just follow her right now.../ Sam thought. His furred feet didn't budge from the wood and he fidgeted with his shiny cufflinks instead. After a few silent moments -- /Frodo....I'll go check on him, then..../ He knew he would find him easily, but he feared the shadowy mood that had passed over his spirit since his terrible last days at the mountain... The memory jarred him, and with a sudden determination, Sam hopped up and padded toward the kitchen.

He met him sooner than expected, for Frodo was sitting right at the head of his long wooden table, good hand wrapped around a delicate, tapered glass and the other massaging his forehead. "Ah, Mr. Frodo...you're right here," breathed Sam, pulling up a chair beside him. "You...you don't have to do this..."

"Yes, I do," said Frodo with a tremor in his voice, head lowered. "I hear that with enough spirits, one can overcome the concerns of the moment."

Samwise regarded the hunched form with concern. "And it may be true, and who am I to say when enough's enough, but I'd rather much talk to you sober." He paused and took the mutilated hand gently in his whole one, waiting patiently for whatever his master wished to say.

Minutes drifted on. Frodo spoke again, slowly and carefully, raising his watery gaze to meet his friend's. "Just because this isn't easy for me, doesn't mean I don't need to face it. I love you, Sam, you know that, and I want you to be happy, but to remain with me as well. And this...this jealousy," his face colored, "This jealousy I feel is something I'll just have to get over."

Sam was taken aback by Frodo's forthrightness, and smoothed a brown curl from his eyes with a calloused thumb. "I don't want you to feel that way, Mr. Frodo..." /Stupid ninnyhammer Gamgee,/ he lectured himself, /what did you think he would feel?/ His chest tightened with the sorrowful realization that it was indeed his wedding night, and what that meant to his best friend, and that there was no turning back, for any of them, now... "Too late, too late..." he uttered aloud, a single tear escaping down his tanned cheek.

Before Sam knew it, Frodo's arms were around his shoulders, and he could feel warm breath on his neck. "I'm sorry, Sam...I just want you to be happy...I shouldn't have said..." he heard from the folds of his collar, the words heavy with anguish. Sam instinctively returned the embrace and naturally did what followed, which was to kiss him tenderly, first his dark hair, then his soft cheeks and finally his wine-tainted lips.

Then, releasing Frodo, he cupped his face in both palms and fought back his own emotion, trying to read his master's instead and decide what he could do to help. Their foreheads bumped together and Frodo's eyes had closed, the weight of his head resting against Sam's for support. Gradually, Frodo began to tilt closer, bringing his mouth dangerously close again, inch by inch, until their breaths mingled. Caught, trapped in a moment between restraint and bliss...

"Oh." A light breathy voice sounded from the direction of the moonlit entryway.

Both hobbits got up quickly from their chairs, then turned, glacially slow, to face the bride, who was standing there in many-layered undergarments with her bouquet firmly clenched to her breast. Sam's heart jumped violently as if trying to leave his chest and he snapped his hands down at his sides in a futile attempt to deny his caresses. Frodo made no such attempt and slumped against Sam's shoulder, eyes squeezed shut.

"So. Don't let me bother you two. I'll go, I'll be in there..." sighed Rosie in a surprisingly calm tone. She tried to back out as silently as she had come in, but a firm hand gripped her arm as Samwise stepped forward, forcing her to face him. He looked utterly pathetic now, trembling, eyes wet with tears.

"I've d-done it..." he stuttered, completely unable to defend himself or deny the truth. Rosie met his gaze, trembling a bit herself with the emotion of her husband's guilty confrontation. She glanced away, regarding the drowsy gentlehobbit stumbling back up next to her husband with some trepidation, but she felt it was time to speak. Summoning her courage, she turned from her husband and addressed Frodo, curtseying as she did so.

"Begging your pardon, Mr. Frodo, but I didn't mean to interrupt. I was just waiting for Sam and I got too impatient. My dress, I'm sorry for that, but it was impossible to replace once all the laces had come undone." She blushed and held the roses close to her body to hide her somewhat bared cleavage. "But, well, I just want you both to know," she stated boldly, "That everything's okay, I mean....it's not as if I didn't expect this."

Frodo and Sam both blinked hard and remained silent.

"Um, it's true, I knew about you two, I have known for quite some time." Rosie's voice had calmed again and she stood up a little straighter. "And you thought I didn't? We've been friends ever since we were children, my Sam, dear Sam..." Slipping a bare arm around the groom's shoulder, she moved him back to his seat, spilling green stems and leaves across the table as she did so. Frodo also reclaimed his seat, shakily, staring at Rosie in disbelief. "How could it be otherwise!" she continued. "I watched you, Sam, watched you head up here every day with your dad, then later alone, to 'do for your Mr. Frodo' - it's all you ever talked about, the garden up here, but I'm sure there was a lot you left out. I was too young to really get it then, but soon enough it was all explained to me...."

At this, Frodo's eyebrows shot heavenward. "Who..." he gasped.

She stifled a burst of laughter. "You think no one ever put the pieces together? Are we down-hill hobbits all simple folk to you? Don't pretend, Mr. Frodo. You were subtle, but not subtle enough for the Cottons."

The full moon shone harshly through the kitchen window across three emotion-filled expressions. Guilt, shock, dismay...the mood became unbearably tense. Frodo stood up, as if about to say something, then shut his mouth quickly, leaning up against the kitchen cupboard, face buried in the crook of his arm. Sam got up to steady him, gripping the backs of his shoulders tightly and staring at the floor. Rosie just plopped down in Sam's empty chair and waited, arms folded.

Finally, something in the gardener snapped and he turned to give his wife a sudden grateful smile. He swept Rosie up in his arms out of her chair, mumbling into her hair, "Oh Rose! You...you're so...you understand! Ah, if you knew it all this time, and hated me for it, you would have never wed me today, but you did, you did...am I makin' sense?" He hugged her tight, swinging her back and forth. She laughed musically, shattering the tension in the room.

"Of course you're not, but you've got it basically right. When I walked down the aisle with you, I loved you then, every part of you, even this part..." Sam lowered Rosie back on her feet and she gazed up through heavy lashes at Mr. Frodo, who's completely chagrined expression had begun to soften the slightest bit at the loving display before him. Still, he leaned over heavily, every line in his face speaking volumes of defeat and dismay.

Frodo put his hands up to his head and nervously ran his fingers through his newly-silvered hair. "You mean, my dear lass, that everyone knows...?"

"Oh no, no, Mr. Frodo. I didn't mean to give you that impression. Just my Mum, really, she's pretty sure of it, but it doesn't bother her any, she's just happy for me. Maybe a couple of other folks... Not the whole Shire for certain, not even all of Hobbiton..." Now Rosie was really sorry she had said anything, and decided to shut up quick. Sam's arm tightened around her, but he remained facing his master.

"It don't matter, Mr. Frodo," he calmed, moving forward to put his arm around him as well. "Now then...you need to get some rest, and Rosie and I are both here for you now. Let's all go," he said plainly, taking his friend's arm and motioning for Rosie to take the other side, which she did gladly. The three woozy hobbits made their way down the hall to the master suite, past many flickering candles, trampling rose petals as they progressed.

Upon entering the large room, Rosie reluctantly gave Frodo's weight over to Sam, who gathered him up in his arms and laid him on the wide bed. He knelt beside his master, asking softly, "Do you need anything before we go?" To Sam, Frodo seemed very awake, though his eyes were dilated and unreadable.

"Come on, then, kiss him," said Rosie impatiently, hands on her hips. Sam turned to glare at her, but failed to look truthfully upset, as he regarded the sweet girl smiling before him in her underwear. "Well...? It's my wedding night. And I don't want anyone being sad on my wedding night...so there," she said petulantly.

It turned out that his wife's request matched exactly what he wanted to do, so Sam's good hobbit sense bade him to bend down and do that, and was glad he did, for it seemed that from the desperate response he got that Frodo had exactly the same idea. Frodo's lips parted to meet his and Sam had started to lose himself in the sweetness of the moment - when he suddenly froze, shyness welling up in his subconscious, willing him to stop.

"Ummmm..." moaned Frodo from his reclining position, reaching up toward his face, "Why'd you stop......"

/How can he be...like this...with my wife watching? How can I...this is just too odd./ Samwise turned around again, searching for Rosie, but she was already scurrying around the other side of the bed and was climbing on. "Rosie!" he exclaimed, but she had already moved over Frodo's body to silence him with a kiss. He could tell that she was frustrated with him, and impatient, but he was still having more than a little difficulty believing what was about to happen. He shut his eyes and felt her run her hands up and down his back, pressing their chests together while positioned over Frodo's reclining body. He did not move an inch himself, still paralyzed with fear. Meanwhile, Frodo had raised himself up on his elbows to get closer to them both. Sam felt a third hand join hers up at his neck, stroking.../fighting this...why am I fighting this...?/

Frodo and Rosie locked eyes conspiratorially for an instant, realizing that their desires were the same, and that they were equally determined to get what they wanted. "Samwise." Frodo's voice snapped the younger hobbit to attention. "Kiss me. Now." Rosie smirked at Frodo, who was obviously not so inebriated that he was unable to call his servant to duty. However, he was, as she observed under close scrutiny, too drunk to keep himself up on both elbows any longer, as Sam obeyed with a deep sigh, pulling himself up on the bed to straddle him. She remained next to them, so close, bodies bumping up against one another for many long minutes as the two lovers fell into familiar distraction. Finally, she could watch no longer and touched Sam's shoulder. That was all she had to do to let him know. Releasing Frodo, he looked up quickly, a little ashamed, but an eagerness shone from his wide brown eyes letting her know his desires in turn.

"Sorry, Mr. Frodo," he breathed, but Frodo just chuckled and pushed him over, rocking the bed dangerously as his weight shifted. Sam brought the same vigorous kisses to Rosie's lips without hesitation, almost bowling her over with his passion. Her head fell right next to the foot of the bed, curls bouncing, and Sam came down over her soon after, covering her, everywhere...

Frodo lay there staring, shirt open, hands folded on his chest, looking and feeling both dazed and excited. He could barely breathe with the empathy of impatient passion for the newlyweds. It wasn't long before Sam stopped his former ministrations and drew back from her, hands trembling and moving over her hair, her breasts, and down her front to pull away the ivory ribbon laces one by one, and down further, pulling up the thin cotton... /Did he really look like that...like THAT...with me?/ thought Frodo, watching the impassioned expression on Sam's face with loving fascination. He clumsily pushed the pillow back from under his head, ventured a roll over to one side...and was treated to an absolutely stunning view of Sam, in all his aroused glory, beneath his arms wrapping around Rosie's golden thighs. One heart-pounding second, two, three, went by as the space was filled between them with a powerful thrust. From somewhere down around Frodo's right hip, familiar deep groans rose along with completely unfamiliar feminine sounds of delight and little puffs of breath against his thigh. The bed started to move beneath him in a predictably rhythmic way. His eyes smarted a little, and he realized he hadn't blinked in several minutes. /Ah...this...is worth it, just tonight.../ It was all he could do to keep himself in check, somehow keep himself from...from...he wasn't sure what he wanted to do, what he was able to do, in this situation. All he knew was the thrum of his own racing heart and the fire in his loins rushing through him, searing every nerve. Giving up the last of his self-control, his hands moved unconsciously down to his breeches, which were already partway open, pushing them down and away.

Sam gritted his teeth, eyes closed, lost in the soft slickness and heat of his Rosie beneath him. Her breath charged his with a needful cry, and something seemed to distract her, as he writhed and turned her head, baring her dampened throat. He tasted her there, hearing and feeling her incoherent speech through his lips, eyes still squeezed shut... "Sam, dear, oh look, move, there you go..." She touched his face but seemed to be addressing someone else, and Sam became warmly aware of the places where Frodo's inverted body was touching them both, and that the slight figure was shifting around against Rose's side. His heart skipped a beat but he did not falter. He opened his eyes and the sight of Frodo's erection against her cheek almost sent him right over the edge.

"...uh......no...wait...", his voice barely a whisper between labored breaths. Rosie looked up into Sam's eyes with a wild fever that shook him to the marrow, gripping the side of his face with impatience and drive, pushing it over, past hers and down toward Frodo's groin. As before, the part of Sam that was still cognitive realized that Rosie knew instinctively what he wanted. She was truly amazing. Surprising. And now no thought remained, only the sweet taste of Frodo in his mouth and the pressure of Rosie driving against him with renewed insistence below. He was faintly aware of her cries in his ear. The pressure was building in him and he could barely stand it now, gripping both of them with his arms and stilling himself while the other two hobbit's motions increased in intensity, taking what they needed from him. Samwise's breath became limited with his efforts and he gasped around his master. Overwhelmed, he felt his shoulders sag with the effort of holding himself up, and his head began to buzz faintly with the warning of impending unconsciousness.

Frodo slowed immediately when he realized Sam was faltering, and he began a stroking motion, hand on his back, comfortingly. He managed to gain control of his voice, stepping back from the precipice for just a few moments, murmuring some mixture of common and elven tongues, "Si, a melindo, breathe now, that's it, you can stop if you want meldanya, suuya...there now..." And Sam obeyed, just long enough to throw his head back and gasp, temporarily saved from drowning by Frodo's words.

Rosie suddenly threw her head back at the same time and, with shuddering gasps of her own, dropped her legs from their grip on his heaving sides. Sam kissed her then and embraced her, and Frodo could see her quivering fingers caress the back of Sam's neck as she said something to him too quiet for him to hear. Frodo almost moved then to pull away from the couple, but was stilled with two hands, one Sam's, one Rosie's, grabbing the bottom of his open shirt with sudden ferocity, pulling his body back over.

"Not done...don't move." Sam made himself perfectly clear and wrapped one strong arm behind Frodo's rear, pulling him again between his lips, deeply this time, with more vigor than before. Rosie didn't move from her position but giggled, more relaxed now, observing from a very good vantage point indeed. Sam moved his tongue deftly up and down Frodo's straining erection, relishing the breathless whimpering that action seemed to cause in his master. Frodo's left hand clawed against the small of his muscled back and he suddenly tensed up, his whole lower body rising from the sheets, and he cried out Sam's name repeatedly. Hearing his name brought Samwise back to the brink again, and the feel of the hot liquid spilling down his throat shocked him and thrilled him all at once. Finally, in a breathless instant, Sam pulled himself up and gripped the sheets, teeth clenched in a spasm of ecstasy, filling his Rose then, and feeling her squeeze his hand in appreciative response.

Collapse. "ah...Frodo..." said Rosie. Sam didn't quite understand why she should be saying that name, right now...but he was far too distracted to mention it, and sank gratefully down into her arms, breathing deeply to recover.

"Yes...?" came Frodo's slurred, wistful voice from the other side of the bed. "I'm right here...I love you..." Frodo wasn't moving now, but he lay slumped up against them both, his eyes half-closed. Sam's hand moved gently up and down the back of Frodo's legs until he looked over to see that his eyes had closed completely. Then, he got up slowly, carefully drawing the blanket over both Rosie and Frodo as he stood shakily on the wooden floor. Rose's eyes were heavy-lidded as well, and he left her with just one more kiss and a whisper of love in her ear, and then the two hobbits were both gone to him.

Sam sat on the floor for several moments until he felt recovered enough to walk. He smelled a faint odor of burning wax from the other rooms and padded down the hall naked to make sure the candles were okay. They looked surreal now, a few flames still guttering in pools, a melted mass of wax hanging off Bilbo's old writing table and the mantelpiece, on the floor, everywhere... He shook his head and feebly attempted to pry some of the wax loose with his fingers. Then, grabbing a cloth, he cleaned himself up a little and some of the wax as well, but he was overtaken by a wave of fatigue and he pulled himself over to the couch, barely forcing himself to blow out the remaining flickers before giving himself over to sleep.

* * *

Frodo was just where Samwise expected to find him, leaning up against an old wooden fence just over the far side of the Bag-End hill, away from the road. Sam saw from a distance that he was still wearing his cobalt blue dressing gown but had thrown a heavy cloak over it. The small dark-cloaked figure appeared to have become part of the rocky, unkempt landscape. He continued his approach, down the hill, under the big oak tree, the soles of his furred feet crunching on sharp leaves as he descended. However, Frodo did not look up, but continued his gaze out West, elbows resting on the ivy-cloaked wood, apparently quite interested in the spring-touched view as he often had been from that vantage point in the days before the Ring.

Sam walked right up to him and paused. Frodo finally acknowledged him with a glance, then turned back to view the horizon. Samwise just stood there solidly, observing the way the bright sunlight found new lines on his master's pale face and the even newer dark circles under his eyes. It was fairly quiet about, for a warm spring day, and breezes played through Frodo's uncombed hair, tumbling curls into his thoughtful face. Sam still waited.

Finally, Frodo said plainly, unmoving, "You weren't there."

Sam knew what he meant and sighed deeply in response. "I...I know, Mr. Frodo, and I'm sorry. I hope you were...um, okay when you woke up. I didn't see you leave, must've been a mite early when you escaped out here..." He attempted to face Frodo head-on, unsuccessfully.

A long guilty silence followed, in which Sam shuffled his feet uncomfortably and tried to think of something to break Frodo from his mood. Before he could, his master spoke. "It was rather... different of you, of Rosie, what you, what we, did....." Sam was glad that Frodo's chill seemed to be thawing, but he also worried.....what of last night did he remember? Then his heart sank to the soles of his feet as he realized Frodo might have felt taken advantage of by one or the both of them. After all, Mr. Frodo did have the most to drink.

"I'm...real sorry," murmured Sam, and he joined Frodo in leaning on the rickety fence, looking out over the hills with him.

It was many minutes before Frodo moved closer, put a hand on Sam's forearm, and finally replied. "No, Sam, my dearest friend...don't apologize. I daresay that would be my job, as your and Rosie's new, um, master..." His mouth twisted slightly, and his brow was furrowed. "It is not acceptable that I should have behaved in that way. Rest assured it won't happen again." Frodo's voice had become stern. The gentlehobbit stood straight upright, turning to walk a few steps away from Sam, smoothing the front of his dressing gown.

Sam was utterly befuddled. Such a terse comment from Frodo was not only unexpected but, he felt, completely unwarranted. He clenched his jaw in frustration. After all, weren't they... couldn't they....

"Mr. Frodo," said Sam, suddenly short of breath, "we...we...both care about you, very much, and didn't mean -- well, what we did mean, anyway... "

Frodo stood like a statue, but seemed to regard Sam with a cool fondness as he searched for the right words. "Yes, you both care for me, and that is truly wonderful. But last night - what did you intend? What could she have meant? Only, that we all had more than enough to drink, me worst of all..." Frodo paused and gazed out over the green treetops, hands wrapped around himself as if an uncomfortable icy breeze had just come up.

"Yes, you had been drinkin' because of me and Rosie's wedding. Tryin' to drink the hurt all away, I could see that. But, drink or no, don't tell me you don't feel any different about things this mornin'?" replied Sam plainly.

Frodo still faced West, but dropped his arms to his sides and kicked the fencepost lightly. "How is that, what we did, supposed to fix everything, Sam? Honestly! What a notion!" he declared.

Sam stood, considering. Mr. Frodo was right, of course. Sex wasn't supposed to fix anything. In fact, it usually just made things more complicated. But in this case, last night, how could things have gone any better? Sam sure felt that way this morning. And Rosie did, too...

"Rosie talked about you this morning," Sam blurted earnestly. "She says there's no better friend to have than you, beggin' your pardon, sir...but she's quite taken with you. Said something about naming her first boy Frodo, after you...that is," he blushed for a moment, "if it is a boy." Frodo paused and raised his chin a bit. "You see, sir, that's okay, isn't it? I mean, it's okay with me, there's no better name..." Sam hushed himself up in a hurry and dared not breathe. He fidgeted with the buttons on his jacket, watching the back of his master's head all the while for some sign of recognition, of anything...

Could there possibly be such a thing as too much love? Sam thought. No...the only way is more...always more. He would, he vowed, be sure to deliver.

"Never mind all that nonsense, it doesn't matter," said Sam. "Just, I love you, regardless of everything else. I want you to be happy, no matter what it takes, and if I've made a mess of things, I just want to make it right." As if to make his point clearer, Samwise walked forward and placed his hand on his lover's collar. He paused for a moment, feeling the rise and fall of Frodo's breath. "This," he gestured back toward the hill with a nod of his head, "all this, it's yours, still yours, as I am and...will always be, if you don't mind me sayin' sir." A warm smile crept into the last words as he spoke. "And we won't be havin' it any other way."

"Mine..." whispered Frodo, though he still stood, hands clenched, tense and hesitant. At length, Frodo sighed and turned to face his best friend. For the first time that morning, his blue eyes were clear and unclouded. "Really?" he murmured, his voice silken. "I do not deserve you two. Certainly I am the luckiest hobbit in all the Shire..."

"Ha!" exclaimed Sam in surprise. "That's word for word what Rosie said over breakfast!" The mood had been broken and the two started chuckling with the ridiculousness of it. "Speakin' of breakfast, you haven't had any, have you!" Frodo sighed good-naturedly as Sam poked him with an accusatory finger. He scooped Frodo up in his arms as if he weighed nothing at all -- and laughed over the top of his curly head all the way back up the green hill.


End file.
